


Grey Days

by georgieteddy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgieteddy/pseuds/georgieteddy
Summary: Aziraphale gets hurt. Gabriel comes to the rescue.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Grey Days

**Author's Note:**

> Sleep deprived author - check! First GO fic - check. First story at all in... a couple of years, I think.  
> Hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading! And thank you to my wounderful friends/betas! Love you!

It’s one of these unremarkable days. You wouldn’t expect anything grandiose to happen on a day that can’t quite decide whether it wants to be just cloudy or whether there’s going to be rain at some point in the near future. Or not so near future.

Aziraphale does not mind unremarkable or cloudy days. London is not the place for the best weather conditions anyway. If he lived in Tadfield it would be a different story. Tadfield is seeing quite different weather this morning. Gentle rain that will not hurt the budding spring flowers gently soaks the earth and alternates with sunny spells while the kids are outside for breaks and on the way home from school. But Aziraphale is not in Tadfield. He is in London, taking the rubbish out to the bins that are hidden away in the quiet back alley behind his bookshop. Obviously, he could just miracle the waste out of existence. But like his clothes and his tea, he prefers to do things the human way.  
He comes to regret this habit when he is suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled backwards. The angel loses his footing, but rough hands hold him in place. Something sharp pierces the skin of his neck and he hisses in pain at the sensation of whatever is pushed into his corporation. Aziraphale tries to fend his assailants off but finds that he cannot access his celestial power. He is left with the considerable strength of his humanlike body which is still no match for the group of humans that crowd him into the wall.  
A few punches and kicks are thrown his way and Aziraphale wants to tell the humans off when the wind is knocked out of him. They drag him back into the bookshop and close the door.  
It takes a moment until he catches his breath and is able to enquire about the reason for their roughness. The humans shove him into a bookshelf and tell him to shut up. They believe he is a demon. He tries to correct them, but they will not listen. The ‘demon blocker’ works after all. So that is what was in that syringe. It must be the reason that Aziraphale cannot tap into his power. He can only speculate why it works on him and says as much. The humans are not interested. They throw more punches. Aziraphale goes down and almost loses consciousness. Almost but not quite.  
His declarations unheard, he does his best to cover his head with his arms to block the vicious blows. He dimly registers that some of the humans go through his things, take his money, that ‘the demon must have stolen anyway’, and shuffle his papers around. Somewhere a stack of books tumbles over. But with pain and confusion being his foremost concerns, the anger over the treatment of his beloved books is not revealed.  
The humans disappear at some point. They leave Aziraphale on the floor, his hands tied to a shelf stacked with ancient cookbooks. He is only half-unconscious, another side effect of the demon blocker. It will not let him fall into oblivion. It will not let his wounds heal either. The angel lingers in a semi-detached state that is not helped by the awkward position he finds himself in. With his neurones constantly firing pain impulses, he stays in a daze that he cannot escape.

Gabriel finds it hard to fathom the incompetence of one principality stationed on Earth. Aziraphale has failed to report to their meeting and has not reacted to any notes he has received recently. Gabriel needs him to be alert and out there, watching the humans and above all the demon Crowley. Celestial Intelligence has it that this is the year things will change. Heaven can’t lose track of the demon now with the young antichrist on the loose. Gabriel takes hold of his phone. He tries calling Aziraphale but there is no answer. With a sigh, Gabriel decides to go down to Earth and see what excuse Aziraphale has to offer this time.

It’s a grey and completely unremarkable day in Soho when Gabriel sets foot into the bookshop. He is already running late for his next meeting and the weather does nothing to improve his mood.  
The locked door is no match for the archangel. Gabriel has never even tried to understand the hours Aziraphale keeps. It only works in his favour that there are no customers to get in the way. Gabriel hasn’t had much of a chance to experience human life. Otherwise he might have found the smell of stale blood alarming. He calls out for Aziraphale but still gets no answer. ‘Who does he think he is’, he muses, as he can clearly feel the other angel’s presence. Aziraphale should be able to sense his annoyance and not play games.  
Gabriel turns a corner and stops in his tracks. He is presented with the view of Aziraphale, bloodied and covered in a thin but discernible layer of dust. He rushes towards the bookshelf at the end of the row where he drops to his knees and puts a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He is greeted by a mixture of pain, loneliness and confusion. He can’t tell what has happened but he implicitly understands that in his current state Aziraphale is cut off from heaven. He bends down low and whispers: “Don’t worry, Sunshine. I’m taking you back home.” He miracles away the piece of fabric that had been used as a makeshift rope, picks him up ever so gently and takes off with Aziraphale in his arms.

Gabriel is still furious, but the focus of his attention has shifted from Aziraphale to whoever dared attack the angel. He finds himself to be fiercely protective of the infuriating principality and sends down a team to investigate the scene of the crime. Meanwhile, he takes the wounded angel into a room that is large enough to stretch his wings. Aziraphale is floating in mid-air to prevent his injuries from being aggravated any further. Gabriel is not a healer, but he can take care of the superficial wounds and bruises. The principality should have been able to do so himself had he not been debilitated by the demon blocker. He watches him slowly wake from his stupor and lets him acknowledge his surroundings and his state before demanding information. Aziraphale appears confused at first as much by his current whereabouts as by Gabriel’s presence, it seems. He is still beaten but answers Gabriel’s questions truthfully. He does not know much himself. He has seen the humans, but he cannot begin to guess their motive.  
Finally, Gabriel is satisfied and tells the exhausted angel to rest. He bends down to kiss his forehead. Aziraphale’s eyes are wide when he straightens up and there is a quiet plea in them. He nods in understanding and leaves the room.

The angel that steps into the room only moments later is one Aziraphale recognises and he welcomes their presence. They come up to him and let him know they will stay with him until Gabriel is back. With his injuries gone, the daze lifting bit by bit, Gabriel’s unexpected tenderness and the certainty that he will not be on his own again so soon after his forced solitude, Aziraphale can finally relax.


End file.
